


The Weakness of Mankind

by auroradream



Category: Firefly, Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Jargon, Psychology, psychiatry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4071385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroradream/pseuds/auroradream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon Tam knew that seeing Hannibal Lecter after the traumatic loss of a patient on his surgical table would get him back to work.  What he didn't know was that Dr. Lecter would bring new part of himself that he never had known about to the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing and wonderful [cinaea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cinaea). Any remaining mistakes are all mine.
> 
> And as always, thanks be to the lovely Listies.

“May I help you?” 

Simon jumped in surprise. He’d been so absorbed in the pen and ink drawing of the Wound Man on Dr. Lecter’s desk that he hadn’t heard the man walk into his office.

He stood and held out his hand, “I’m so sorry for the intrusion; your secretary let me in. I’m Dr. Simon Tam?”

Hannibal Lecter was a tall man with a lithe, athletic frame. His dark eyes seemed to take in every wrinkle in Simon’s suit while his own was an immaculate dark wool to go with the season, a muted paisley tie knotted at his throat. Simon felt even younger than he usually did when with his peers, Dr. Lecter’s youth making his own stand out even more. 

“Is that actually a question, Dr. Tam, or are you that nervous about seeing me?” Hannibal said, a very slight grin twitching at the corner of his mouth when he took Simon’s hand in his.

The squawk of deprecating laughter that burst from Simon made him blush and pull his hand back, rubbing his palms down the front of his suit jacket to recompose himself. “Obviously I’m nervous about this; I’ve been mandated to have therapy sessions with you.”

The psychiatrist nodded softly and picked up the notepad from his desk before he unbuttoned his suit coat and sat, his legs crossing at the knee. An elegant turn of his wrist motioned Simon to sit in the chair across from him, and Simon followed the silent direction, unbuttoning his own suit coat and leaning back, testing the comfort of the chair while watching Lecter jot down a quick note.

Lecter looked up at Simon. “Dr. Tam. Or shall I call you Simon?”

“Simon is fine, Dr. Lecter.” Simon fidgeted with the ring on his right hand before he caught himself and settled both hands on his knees.

“Simon. I understand that the medical review board mandated these sessions, but I want to know what you want to get out of them. I will sign off on your having attended right now, but I also want to actually work with you. From what your Attending wrote, it seems that the death of a patient has affected you more than normal.” 

Simon nodded.

“You are in your second year of residency at John Hopkins and have already lost patients on your operating table. What caused this patient to be the one to send you to me?”

The hum of the heater was the only sound for a few seconds before Simon drew a breath to answer, “She reminded me of my sister.”

Lecter moved his pen across the paper in response. “Tell me about your sister.”

Simon couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face while he thought about River. “River is amazing. She’s currently double majoring in dance and linguistics at Columbia. She’s even minoring in history with a focus on military combat. Her dance adviser is putting on a workshop in a few months that River is starring in. I’ve already bought my plane ticket to go. I’m so proud of her.” He flushed realizing that he once again went a bit overboard in his exuberance concerning his little sister. 

“What year is she?” Lecter had a small smile on his face that Simon felt drawn in by.

“She’s in her second year, but she’ll be graduating in December. There are a few places that are courting her for their PhD programs, but she isn’t sure if she wants to go right into getting her doctorate or if she wants to take some time off to dance instead. Julliard has been pretty excited about her, but there’s a school in Russia that has been sending her brochures. Our parents are really pushing her to continue on for her PhD; they don’t see the value of her taking time off to dance.” For a moment Simon was reminded of his and River’s games before he left for school and were scolded by their parents for. River had always made him the hostage that she had to save from crazy scenarios. His favorite had been when he’d had to be saved from the Khmer Rouge by her band of astronauts. 

Lecter pursed his lips and crossed his legs in the opposite direction. “You two must have been close with how dearly you speak of her. How much younger is she?”

“Well, I’m ten years older than River, but she’s always been smarter than me. We were really close growing up.” Simon couldn’t help but chuckle a little, “I remember her helping me with my calculus back in high school. It’s probably because she helped me then that I was able to get most of my undergraduate prereqs out of the way before I even got to college. She even designed my study schedule so I’d have time to go out and not just spend all my time glued to my desk and my computer.”

Lecter’s maroon eyes widened almost imperceptibly in a surprise that familiar to Simon when he mentioned River’s many accomplishments at such a young age. “And you are 27, Simon?”

He nodded in response, watching Lecter turn to look out the window of his office, his face pensive. Simon knew a little bit about the doctor in front of him. Hannibal Lecter had started at Johns Hopkins when he was just 19, interning and then working up to attending physician before hanging up his stethoscope and becoming a psychologist. Now, Lecter was in his late thirties with a successful practice and was well liked by the community. Simon saw his name attached to many of the same guest and donor lists that his parents belonged to. He could remember seeing Lecter’s distinctive profile at a few of the functions he’d been dragged to.

There was a sense of intrigue about the doctor, especially amongst those who heard stories of him after he left Johns Hopkins. Simon had been compared to him a number of times due to his young age and intelligence, which seemed similar to Lecter’s (Simon, though, always felt like a pale imitation of the man; Lecter was an artist, in more than pen and ink while Simon could remember things well and understood concepts faster than his peers. Personally, he thought he’d only gotten as far as he had as young as he did to keep up with and challenge River.). Simon had always wanted to meet the doctor. Given the choice, though, he’d have rather it not be as doctor and patient.

Lecter turned back to Simon, and whatever thoughts that had him drifting away from Simon corralled again. “How did your patient remind you of your sister, Simon?”

He sat back. It felt like his limbs were made of lead. “The patient came into the ER via ambulance after a head-on collision in which she was a passenger. She presented with two broken legs—fractures in both femurs and in the right tibia—and a possible collapsed lung. She was conscious and tracking when I first triaged her; she was joking about not being able to dance again. She already knew that it would be a long recovery, if she’d ever dance to her previous caliber, but she was still joking.

“Once in the OR we found extensive damage to her internal organs, and she began to hemorrhage. I--I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I kept trying to locate the bleed, but by the time I found it, she’d lost too much blood. She died.” 

He could hear the hum of the central air again. Simon found his eyes focusing on the railing of the upper level of the office, the books beyond it just a blur of reds and browns and blacks and golds. The soft rustle of clothing barely registered to him until a dark mass crouched at his side. A soft cloth dabbed at his cheeks, and Simon realized he’d been crying. 

Lecter was at his side, handkerchief in hand, a soft, questioning look in his eyes.  
“You do know that it was not your fault that the young girl died? The inquest found no fault in how you treated her. You did everything you could.”

Simon sighed, his whole body slumping. “I understand that intellectually. But emotionally, that’s been harder to accept. I mean, that’s why I’m here. I lost it. I lost a bit of time after, and what I next remember is John holding me in the break room—it was completely trashed. The review board gave me a suspension and sent me here. Can’t go back until you sign off on it, just like you said.”

Dr. Lecter stood, pressing the fine linen handkerchief into Simon’s hand, and moved to his desk. Simon couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but his shoulders were moving with deliberate motion. Lecter turned back, a paper and pen in his hands. 

“Here, I have signed off on your visit saying you are fit to go back to surgery. Go, compose yourself. I would like for you to come back and speak to me again, though, Simon. You had, while it was over the top, a completely normal emotional response to losing a patient, especially one that reminded you of your sister. Perhaps, if you would like, when we meet again, we can talk more about you and River. Very rarely do I see siblings close like the two of you are.”

Simon nodded, rather abashed at his sudden breakdown in front of the doctor, and stood, gathering his overcoat. “I think that would be a good idea. Maybe next week?”

Nodding, Lecter flipped in his datebook, and motioned Simon to the door. “Would this time next week work for your schedule?” He hovered a hand at the small of Simon’s back, and Simon could feel the heat of it through the layers of his clothes, both grounding and exciting him. 

Simon turned back to the doctor when he reached the exit, and Lecter reached past him to open the door. “This time next week works perfectly for me.”

Lecter smiled softly, “I’ll see you then, Simon.”

\---  
The ringing of his phone startled Simon, his coffee sloshing out under the cap to burn his fingers. “Shit,” he muttered, sucking the burnt finger into his mouth while his other hand searched in his coat pocket for his phone. River always did have the most impeccable timing. The cannon fire from the 1812 Overture continued until he was able to juggle the phone from an inner pocket and answer. 

“Hello, sister, mine.”

“Hello, brother, mine,” River chirped. “How was therapy?”

Simon frowned and couldn’t help the weary chuckle that left him. “I see Mother has been keeping you informed.”

He could hear River’s harsh exhalation. “As if Mother would relay that type of information; she would consider it gossip and beneath her while she continued to talk about what the neighbors are doing do their landscape. John called me. You know he’s my main source of information on what you’re up to these days, because you, my dearest brother, never think to keep me informed!”

“River…”

“No, Simon,” she interrupted. “You know how much I hate getting second hand information on you. I knew that I should have followed you to Maryland and not stayed in New York. You’re always keeping things like this to yourself when you could be getting help from me and others.”

He sighed. “You’re right, I keep things to myself too much. That’s probably why I had the episode I did. And that’s why I’m going to have another session with Dr. Lecter next week.”

The lack of reply made Simon frown and he quick checked to make sure that the call hadn’t been dropped. “River?”

“I’m still here, just in shock that I didn’t have to convince you. Usually I have to brow beat you a bit more before you agree with me. This Dr. Lecter really got to you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” He climbed into his car and relaxed into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know, he was kind in a way that I needed; even had a handkerchief that he gave me to use when I cried. Plus, I didn’t have to answer weird questions.” 

The two shared a quiet chuckle.

“So, what’s his name again?”

“River,” Simon admonished, recognizing the tone of her voice.

“Oh, Simon, you know me. I’m just wondering,” she cajoled.

“Fine. It’s Hannibal, Hannibal Lecter. L-E-C-T-E-R.”

“Thanks, brother, mine. You should spend the rest of your weekend off and come visit me. I don’t have to go to any classes and we can go have a picnic in Central Park.”

Simon nodded, “Yeah, I think that would be really great. I’ll get on the train tomorrow morning around 9, so I’ll be there a little before noon.”

He could practically hear River’s grin. “Great! I’ll see you at Grand Central, and we’ll get lunch. Bye, brother, mine.”

“Bye, sister, mine. See you tomorrow.” Hanging up the phone, Simon grinned with excitement. He would see River in less than 24 hours and in a week he would see Hannibal Lecter again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the brilliant [cinaea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cinaea) for her amazing beta skills.
> 
> And thanks to the Listies and our 220x22 challenge for actually getting this chapter done!

The following week found Simon once again in the office of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He had been welcomed into the doctor’s office by the man himself, his secretary gone already for the day, and had barely sat down before jumping up again. He wandered around the room while Dr. Lecter settled in his chair, notepad already propped on his crossed knee. For a moment Simon stayed at the windows before he wandered back to his seat. He could feel the smile that had been an almost permanent fixture on his face pull his lips up when he settled into the chair. He couldn’t help his fidgeting as he situated himself, his mind wandering to his weekend with River, his smile growing larger. 

The two men exchanged a few pleasantries that Simon answered before he began tapping his feet to the time of the dance that River had shown him. Simon knew that the frenetic energy surrounding him had to be distracting Dr. Lecter, but the older man was just watching him, a small smile at the corner of his wide mouth. The smile distracted Simon from his thoughts for a moment before he noticed that the doctor was actually talking to him. 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter.” He could feel his mouth stretch in a sheepish smile. “I didn’t catch that.”

Dr. Lecter let a barely noticeable chuckle pass his lips. “I asked, what has your spirits so lifted today? It is quite the change from last week.”

His smile bloomed wider. “I went up to New York to visit River over the weekend. I mean, we talk a lot on the phone, but nothing really compares to talking to each other in person. River speaks with her body a lot, and I missed seeing that.” He had missed the way that her hands flowed around her with excitement, the way that she would sometimes bounce up onto her toes as she spoke, her limbs dancing just a little, even if she was stationary. Even the way she would tilt her head made him think of dance.

“You said she’s a dancer. Does she ever dance for you?” Dr. Lecter asked, his fingers steepled lightly under his chin. The notepad leaning against his knee seemed to be forgotten when he focused on Simon. 

“I don’t think River is ever not dancing. Even when she’s still, there’s an energy around her that feels like a dance.” Simon thought back on their weekend. “She showed me the beginning of a new dance she’s going to be performing soon. I think she is becoming even more graceful, which I hadn’t thought possible.” 

River was going to be the prima ballerina in the new dance her school had commissioned. She’d hinted that it had actually been choreographed just for her, and Simon knew that she was both humbled and thrilled by the honor.

“Your trip seems to have helped you, quite a bit,” Dr. Lecter said. His smile caught Simon’s attention.

“It really did. It reminded me of life outside of the hospital.” Simon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “But talking to you, Dr. Lecter, helped to put things into perspective for me, as well.”

“I’m glad for that, Simon. For some people, mandatory time off makes their perceived failures stand out even more. You took yours with humility and also used it as a chance to reconnect with those who help to ground you. An episode like you experienced can be a total breaking point for some, but I don’t see that for you. That said, do you feel at risk of having another episode? Do you think that continuing with therapy is the path you want to go on for now? ”

Simon relaxed back into his chair, thinking. Did he feel like he needed to continue with therapy, or was he okay? Was he past the crisis that brought him there, or were there lingering issues he needed to talk through with Dr. Lecter’s help?

“I think I’m okay for now. But this is definitely something--now that I know you, Dr. Lecter--I may come back to. Just knowing and acknowledging you as a resource gives me some stability that I didn’t have before. But for now, I think I’m good.”

Dr. Lecter nodded and stood. “Then I am glad to have been part of your journey to recovery. Let us end your appointment now, on this high note. I know that you are probably still settling back into your schedule and would enjoy this time for other things.” He held his hand out to shake. “Perhaps we’ll see each other as colleagues.”

Simon stood, relieved that Dr. Lecter was so amiable to him not continuing with therapy. He smiled at the thought of seeing more of the other doctor in a less-formal situation. Now that they actually knew one another, the functions where he had seen him before might not be as boring. “I would like that very much, Dr. Lecter,” Simon said while taking his hand.

“Hannibal,” Dr. Lecter said, giving Simon’s hand a firm squeeze that made Simon flush. “As we are now no longer doctor and patient, I feel that you should call me by my given name.”

Simon smiled up at the taller man. “All right then, Hannibal.”

Hannibal gave Simon’s hand another slight squeeze before releasing it and motioning towards the door. “Until we meet again, Simon.”

He nodded, giving a slight wave. “Good-bye, Hannibal.” 

//

The next few weeks brought Simon back to his regular, hectic surgery schedule. The enforced leave seemed to what he needed, as well as the time with River and Hannibal. Simon could feel that some of the tension that he’d been carrying even before his crisis had lifted. Nurses seemed to be smiling more around him. He was once again being invited to give consults and small guest lectures to the pre-med students in the hospital. And his old teachers were exclaiming how he was their best and favorite student when he came to visit the classrooms. Even his Attending was more inclined to just chat and talk. River had been calling or texting him each day just to check on him, and in the past, that would have made Simon feel smothered, but not currently. The fact that she was paying so much attention to him made Simon feel more relaxed than before.

When he was called into his Attending's office two weeks after his return from suspension, however, Simon was starting to feel the return of the earlier pressure. He checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror, smoothing down his tie and white coat, flicking fly-away strands of hair back, hoping there was nothing wrong that Dr. Howard could be calling him in for. If he’d had the time and known he wouldn’t be bothering River, he’d have texted her before the meeting, but he didn’t want to be a nuisance with her midterms coming up.

He rapped on the frame to Dr. Howard’s door. “You wanted to see me?” The other doctor barely looked up from his papers when he motioned Simon in. 

“Sit, Simon,” he said, signing a paper and finally looking up.

Simon sat, crossing his legs one way, then immediately crossing them the other way before settling back.

“Hannibal Lecter called me earlier today about you.”

His stomach dropped. “W-what?”

Dr. Howard shook his head with a grin. “Oh Simon! It’s nothing to worry about! He called wanting to know if you had any time in your schedule to meet with him and discuss your plans for the next year. He knows that this is your final year of residency and wondered if he couldn’t mentor you in your decisions for going forward. You seemed to have caught his eye.” 

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk and hands clasped. “Simon, this is a great opportunity, and anyone would jump at it. Hannibal Lecter is well respected in the medical and social community, and has a unique outlook from his early life in Europe.” Dr. Howard smiled. “You should talk with him.”

Simon blinked in astonishment. While he’d thought a lot about the psychiatrist in the last few weeks, he'd been sure the man had put Simon from his mind. He’d just been another patient, one that hadn’t even lasted more than two sessions. Learning that Hannibal wanted to mentor him was shocking. And rather pleasing. Simon tried to ignore the flush that he knew was rising on his cheeks.

“Um, that’s, that’s really generous of him. But, why didn’t he just contact me? He has my contact information from before.”

“Hannibal had a feeling you’d ask about that,” Dr. Howard chuckled. “He told me to say that he felt it would be improper to use information he’d gotten, while as your doctor, to contact you outside of that relationship. That is why he,” Dr. Howard sat back and pulled a piece of paper from a desk drawer, “said to give you this--his personal cell number--to contact him. Putting the ball firmly in your court, Simon.”

He leaned forward, paper in hand, and Simon reached out to take it. All it said was _Hannibal Lecter -- 410-555-8427_.

“Thanks, Dr. Howard. I’ll think about it.” Simon rubbed the edge of the paper between his fingertips, mind already racing.

“Good, good.” Dr. Howard was already going back to the papers on his desk. “I’ll see you on Monday.” An obvious dismissal from one doctor to the other.

//

Simon sat in his car, later that evening. He was done for the day and had a weekend off with little to distract him from the paper in his bag. He reached in and pulled out the already fox-edged paper, his fingers automatically worrying a corner that had originally been pure white. Simon pulled out his phone and stared at the black screen, his thoughts jumping from one thing to another, but also focused in a way that would have made River proud.

River wouldn’t pause on this. She’d have already called Hannibal and made a time for them to meet and chat. She’d have put it in her calendar and called Simon to share the news. She would have danced around while on the phone with him, sharing her excitement. He really needed one of those bracelets that said “What Would River Do?”

With a barely discernable tremble, Simon dialed. He tried to keep his breathing even while the phone rang.

“Hello?” 

“D-doctor Lecter! I mean, Hannibal! This is Simon Tam.” Simon cursed himself for stuttering. “Dr. Howard said that you’d spoken to him, and I wanted to touch base with you and thank you for thinking of me.”

Hannibal’s softly accented laughter came across the line. “Simon, I’m so glad you called. And think nothing of thanking me. It is I who should thank you for being willing to indulge me on this. Would you be free for dinner this weekend?”

“O-of course!” Simon winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean, yes, I’m free this weekend. I literally have no plans other than sleeping and doing chores.”

“Ah, I do remember those days with some rose-colored fondness. Dinner for Saturday will give me time to put together a menu for us.” 

“Should I bring anything?” Simon asked, some of the manners his mother had force fed him and River coming through.

Hannibal hummed softly. “A bottle of a medium-bodied red will do nicely. Something from South America, perhaps?”

Simon nodded, “I actually have something that may match already.”

“Splendid! You’ll have to tell me about your wine collection over dinner. Come over at 6. I’ll text you my address.”

“That sounds great, I’ll see you then.” 

“Until tomorrow, Simon.”

“Bye, Hannibal.”

Simon stared at his phone, the flashing duration of their conversation mesmerizing him for a moment before he tapped at his screen and brought it back to his ear.

“Simon!”

“River, Hannibal Lecter wants to mentor me and invited me to dinner at his home. Do I bring my ‘07 Malbec or the ‘05 Tempranillo?”

River’s surprised laughter calmed the rising panic in Simon’s breast and brought a grudging smile to his face. 

“Alright, brother, mine. Here’s the plan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author has a [tumblr](http://auroratraum.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [cinaea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cinaea) once again for her wonderful beta skills! Also, a bravo to her for finishing her epic work, [Volition](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2277885/chapters/5005695)!

It was already dark when Simon pulled up to Hannibal’s Baltimore home; the lights from inside cast a warm glow over the exposed stonework. Simon huffed out a breath to steady his nerves as he slid from his car, reaching back in to grab the bottle of Tempranillo that he and River had settled on. He continued to gather himself as he walked up the steps to the door, his mind already spinning, excited about the night ahead.

There was only a short wait after he rang the bell before the door swung open, Hannibal haloed in the light of the foyer. Simon felt his grin spread as he looked up at the doctor in front of him. He was dressed casually, for him, in a cream colored button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the shirt tails tucked neatly into slate gray slacks, a dramatic royal purple paisley tie in a full Windsor knot at his neck, and a black leather belt around the trim waist that Simon couldn’t help but notice with a slight flush to his cheeks that he hoped was attributed to the cold weather. 

“Simon,” Hannibal gave a soft smile and stepped back, opening the door wider. “Do come in.”

“Thank you.” Simon handed the bottle over to Hannibal after the man shut the door behind him. He unwrapped his scarf from his neck and slid his overcoat down his shoulders. Hannibal placed the bottle on the side table and took his coat and scarf to hang in the closet by the door. 

The front room was in bathed in warm light that made the rich woods and decor glow. Hannibal’s wealth was noticeable in the tasteful decorations and personal touches. A light touch to his side brought Simon’s attention back to his host.

“Come, I’ll decant this for dinner and you can join me in the kitchen as I finish preparing the meal." Hannibal motioned forward and guided Simon to the kitchen, the heat of his hand hovering at Simon’s back. 

“Your home is beautiful. How long have you lived here?”

When they reached the kitchen, Hannibal pulled a glass decanter from a cabinet, giving Simon a view of his long back stretching the fabric of his shirt across his shoulders. He hummed under his breath in thought. 

“Close to 15 years now. When I first began my residency at Hopkins I rented a flat closer to the hospital, but once I knew that I wanted to stay in Baltimore, I decided to make more permanent roots. Plus,” Hannibal tied a striped apron around his waist, “owning one’s home can give a sense of accomplishment. I grew up fostered by an uncle and aunt, thus not truly having a space that was my own.”

Simon settled across the main prep island from where Hannibal had an array of ingredients spread out. He could smell meat cooking in the oven, and steam gently rose from a pot on the stove. He watched as Hannibal uncorked the wine, giving the cork a soft sniff before pouring the bottle into the decanter. Instrumental music was playing softly in the background, breaking the silence between the two of them. When Hannibal finished with the bottle and decanter he looked up at Simon, a smile in his eyes.

“Here, you can help me prepare the salad that will go with dinner. This is the last component to our meal." 

Simon walked around the island to join Hannibal, who placed a cutting board in front of him, as well as a knife, the blade shining and sharp; a red onion, and two oranges. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he picked up the knife. “You just want to see me cry again, Hannibal.”

Simon caught Hannibal’s smile from the corner of his eye as he gave his head what looked like an amused shake. Hannibal’s movements were swift and precise over his own prep work. He still had a surgeon’s sure and delicate hand as he chopped and cut. Long fingers held the knife with a deft touch that made Simon think of them doing more intimate things. He felt his face heat and turned back to the knife in his own hands, reaching for the onion.

A touch to his wrist paused his movements as he had begun to chop the vegetable. “Move your forefinger down onto the hilt of the knife, not along the top of the blade. Keep your grip light but sure, you’re not cutting into a cadaver." 

Their prep continued in a similar fashion, Hannibal bringing together the greens for their salad while giving direction and subtle correction to Simon. Each time, Simon would feel his face heat while he leaned into each guiding touch to his hand or wrist. Working together felt both casual and intimate, giving Simon flashes of River trying to teach him some of her dance moves. He could feel Hannibal’s strength when the doctor gripped his arm to move him out of the way at one point, the touch grounding Simon in the moment. All too soon Simon was sent into the dining room with the decanter in hand and Hannibal guiding him to the seat to the right of the head of the table. 

The table was set with a an elaborate centerpiece of holly branches, their red berries bright against the dark green leaves, evergreen boughs, and long pheasant feathers. Silver chargers were bright atop burgundy placemats. Simon couldn’t help but study the whole of the room with its blue wallpaper and huge, white horns over the mantle; the opposite wall covered in tiered planters full of greenery. Absorbed in his study of the room, Simon missed Hannibal’s return to the room until he was brought back to awareness by the heat of Hannibal to his left, leaning in to set a plate in front of him, turning it just slightly into position.

Steam rose with fragrant curls from the plate, chunks of meat and vegetables covered in thick bouillon and golden pearls of couscous with green flecks. On a second plate, a salad of tender baby spinach with frisee and radicchio, all tossed together with the red onions, blood oranges, and bright red pomegranate pips that must have been added at the end. 

He looked over as Hannibal settled himself into his own chair, now wearing a gray blazer to match his pants. Simon felt inordinately happy that he was wearing the suit that River had picked out for him last fall, the dark blue of the wool that she had called a dramatic contrast to his pale skin. 

“Cassoulet with duck confit and homemade pork kielbasa, saffron couscous, and our winter salad with blood oranges and pomegranate." The thick stew of the cassoulet made Simon’s mouth water while he marveled at the decadence and showmanship of the entire presentation. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Hannibal treated all his guests. Hannibal poured wine into Simon’s glass and then his own before lifting a napkin from a basket to reveal warm dinner rolls dotted with seeds and rosemary. “Bon appetite.”

\---

Cool water splashed across Simon’s face, dripping down into the sink. His face was still flushed from good wine, good food, and good company. He couldn’t help smiling at himself over the success of the dinner with Hannibal. They'd spoken long into the night after they had cleared the plates from the dining room table and retired into Hannibal's study with the remainder of the Tempranillo. The fire had cast a warm glow over them in their arm chairs and made Simon feel cozy and relaxed. 

He could remember talking about his parents and their unreasonable expectations for him and his sister. How he just wanted to heal people and help them. How River was amazing in her ability to let their words wash over her with little care, but still was able to give him encouraging words. He'd wondered aloud if she was actually the older sibling and he the younger. 

Their conversation had moved to his residency and how he wanted to progress forward, who he liked working with. Hannibal had given him suggestions on who to avoid if possible—and if not possible how to handle them—followed by teasing anecdotes of his own residency and, with a solemn voice, had spoken of his decision to step away from surgery and into psychiatry. 

Simon hadn’t wanted the evening to end, but Hannibal had an early morning appointment with a client the next day. Future plans though, were made, and Hannibal invited him to a gallery opening later that week. 

Down to an undershirt and boxers, Simon slipped between his cool, cotton sheets, the light on his nightstand the only one still on. His left hand settled on his chest as he lay against the pillows, mind still on the post-dinner conversation, and let his imagination wander. What would have happened if he had let himself take Hannibal’s clever hands between his own to study the veins and fingertips like he had so wanted to? Idly his fingers drifted back and forth across his shirt, skimming his nipple and causing it to harden. Would Hannibal have let him look his fill or would he have grabbed back and taken control like he had in the kitchen, guiding Simon where he wanted him? He sighed through his nose and closed his eyes, fingers moving to pluck at the beaded skin through his shirt. Yes, Hannibal would have pulled him from his chair to his knees before him, heat of the fire at his back and warming his skin while he gazed up at the older doctor. His legs moved restlessly as his cock began to harden, right hand hot on his thigh, just resting there and heavy. He tossed his head back with a groan, thinking of how Hannibal would have gazed down at him, as he moved his left hand to his right nipple, giving it equal abuse to the left. His right hand rose from his thigh to move to his belly, his fingers teasing at the now exposed skin around his bellybutton, tugging lightly on the hairs there. 

He bit his lip, stifling the whimper that wanted to escape as his hand pushed his boxers down past his now erect cock, the elastic band just under his balls. He imagined Hannibal’s teasing hands softly running up and down his stomach before light fingertips grazed over his length. He grabbed at his headboard with his left hand, his nipples now sore and aching. With a writhe, he wrapped his right hand around his cock, thumb brushing over the head to tease at the slit. 

Simon wanted to bring his left hand down to play with his balls, but Hannibal’s voice in his head told him _No_ , so he tucked it behind his neck, his head resting heavy against his wrist. The soft, teasing fingers on his erection tightened with a slow pull down, skin pulling with the friction. His hand left his body and scrabbled at his nightstand for the lube in the drawer. He kept his eyes tightly close while he fumbled one handed with the bottle, slick fluid spilling on his shirt while he kicked the sheets down with his feet. His hand covered in lube, he coated his cock, squeezing in an almost punishing grip over the head. He couldn’t hold back his moans while his hand pumped up and down over his cock, thumb rubbing over the sensitive head every other pass. 

He could feel his balls tightening, his stomach tensing as he chased his orgasm. It was close, his cock spilling precome in sticky gushes, makingan even slicker glide for his fist. His toes began to curl, and his fist moved faster up and down, an almost punishing twist at the end.

With a near silent gasp, his head snapped back as he came. He could feel the hot splatters of his come hitting his chest through his rucked up shirt. His body slowly unclenched and began to relax with the last of his orgasm shuddering through him. 

Simon flashed back to dinner and Hannibal licking the side of thumb, a drop of cassoulet marring the skin. He remembered the deep hum the other man had made and rumble of his voice saying that he “mustn’t waste something so good." Simon dipped his finger in his cooling come and brought it to his mouth, unable to help the aftershock that jolted through his body at the taste. 

\---

“I’m so glad you finally figured out Skype! I’ve missed your face!" River smiled at him through the computer screen. He could tell that she was in her dorm room, the wall behind her covered in retro-style space travel posters and he could see the corner of her unmade bed. She looked relaxed with her long hair pulled up in a messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face. She was in a too-large sweater that looked suspiciously like his favorite one, which he'd thought had gone missing. 

“I’m not that incompetent when it comes to technology. I’m not Mom and Dad at least.” He snarked back at her from his own home office. 

“Minor miracle there. But we all know you got your brains from me.”

“I’m not even going to attempt to dignify that with a response." He mock frowned at her triumphant smile. “Tell me about your recital and how practice is going.”

River waved the comment off, “Not interesting." She leaned in, a gleam in her eyes. “Tell me about your field trips with the intriguing Dr. Hannibal Lecter!”

Simon hoped that the camera didn’t pick up the flush he could feel spreading across his cheeks. “Well, last week we had dinner at his house again and he took me to a dress rehearsal of Norma at the Kennedy Center. He also took me to a gala at the National Aquarium. I got to feed the dolphins.”

River's mouth was open in shock. “Had you told him about the time our parents refused to take us to Sea World because it wasn’t dignified?”

Simon knew that his blush had to be noticeable now. “It may have come up during one of our dinners." 

She shook her head in wonderment. “Well, you can’t fault the man for listening. It should be expected with him being a psychiatrist, really." She tilted her head to the side. “Have you been spending all your free time with the good doctor or have you been holed up on your condo?”

“Actually,” Simon grinned, “you’d be proud. I’ve been going out with some of the other residents and even exploring Baltimore on my own. I went to a performance at the Strathmore last night.”

“Well, look at you being all grown up and shit.” River smiled at him. “Anything else planned for the week?”

“Hannibal is making me dinner, and we’re going to an arthouse theater to see a movie that he recommended.”

“Dinner and a movie? Sounds like a date. Are you being wooed, big brother?” She leaned all the way into the camera, chin in her hands.

Simon knew his face was bright red, but he couldn’t help the smile that emerged.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work that I initially dreamed up years ago after seeing Gaspard Ulliel playing a young Hannibal Lecter in _Hannibal Rising_. The original concept was flawed and also written before I had the writing experience I do now. Intrepid followers might be able to find it in my archives on the internet and we can cry over it together. 
> 
> If you do, come drop me a line on my tumblr, [auroratraum](http://auroratraum.tumblr.com/)


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